With Zoey, we just...clicked. I knew I liked her. I never worried about needing to impress her because I had this sense I already did without really trying. I was usually too concerned about when I’d get to see her again to worry about that, anyway. I just wanted to be with her constantly. The urge to always find my way close to her was like an itch just under the skin that could never be relieved until she was back with me.
Even though I’d ordered Ten not to compare her with Cora, I did in my head, too. A lot. She always came out the victor. In looks, temperament, compatibility, likeability, even in the bedroom. When it came to sex…wow, there was no contest at all. Zoey lit up in my arms like a wildfire every time I touched her. Her eagerness for me was genuine, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
With Cora, I’d been clueless, and she’d been the one with all the experience. When we’d dated, I didn’t think I had a problem with that. She taught me what she liked, and I was willing and ready to learn everything I could to please her. But she’d always led. I didn’t think I had a problem with that, either.
Until Zoey.
Now, I was the teacher. And I was the one giving her her first experience with every new thing we did. There was something so hot and bonding about that, about knowing I was the only man who’d ever touched her there, or kissed her here. I wanted all her firsts, and I craved each one I took.
I felt closer to her because I knew every detail about her sexual past. That was probably wrong of me, but I still liked it. And I didn’t just know all her secrets; I was her secret. It made me trust her implicitly. I told myself I should have some reservations. After the way Cora had lied and betrayed me and so absolutely hoodwinked me, I should’ve been wizened and hardened to the next girl who came along. But Zoey was so sweet and innocent I couldn’t summon an iota of doubt over anything she said to me.
Six days after we started our secret relationship—secret because we didn’t want Cora finding out and making a big deal about it—I went to school anxious and jittery. The last time I’d gotten a chance to see Zoey was yesterday morning in Art Appreciation. I’d had to work last night and I had to again tonight, which meant I wouldn’t get to see her again until tomorrow, Wednesday morning
I walked to my next class, unable to concentrate on school or think about practice I would be attending later in the afternoon. Coach was finally going to officially label me as a second-string quarterback. I’d been working for this spot for a year now. I should be excited that today was finally the day. Instead, I was tempted to pull out my cell phone and fire off a text to Zoey, even though I’d had a ten-minute conversation with her earlier when I called to say good morning.